


Under Your Spell

by Lichterin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Sam, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Memory Alteration, Sam likes hugs, Wincest Big Bang 2018, don't trust strangers the way Sam trusts Dean, it says Sam Wesson but this IS in fact incest, mild dub con, set in season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lichterin/pseuds/Lichterin
Summary: Sam Wesson's life is normal, boring at times. Most people would agree. But one day Sam meets a stranger and is inexplicably drawn to him. Against his better judgement Sam trusts this man despite everything being way to shady around him. He ends up on the road with him, in a car feeling like home and the driver strangely familiar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Big Bang, so I don’t know any other mods and yet I know the Wincest Big Bang mods are the best.  
> And also, thanks to Jen for the beta and I’m a super shit human with my time management and you deserve all the thanks.
> 
> Kuwlshadow, thanks for putting up with me, I’m probably the worst partner in existence. Thank you so much.  
> You can check out the wonderful art [here](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/179737107403/title-under-your-spell-author-lichterin-artist), reblog it and give it all the love.

Sam Wesson's car didn't even pretend to work, it didn’t start. At all.

Sam Wesson bought this car two years ago, it wasn't even that old. Practically new.

He sighed and tried again, but still nothing. Staring out of the front window he contemplated his options. There weren't many, he had left his phone at home and he sure as hell wouldn't run back through the pouring rain to the office to call for help. He was one of the last to go today, his boss had made him work longer, and by now everyone would've already left. He probably couldn't even enter the building anymore.

Whatever. He didn't want to. He'd rather walk an hour through the rain than spend more time than necessary in this stupid job and this stupid building.

Realizing he wouldn't get anywhere sitting in his car, he accepted he didn't have any other choice than to walk home. Perhaps he would meet someone on the streets who would allow him to use their phone to call a cab. At that, he checked his watch, 11:25 pm. Maybe a dog walker was still out...

After trying to start his car again for good measures, Sam opened the door and stepped outside. He was already wet from when he got into his car earlier, but when he reached the streets he was completely soaked. He wished had taken his jacket at least. He had overslept this morning and was glad his boss only told him to catch up on the missed time after his shift and nothing worse. After that, he stayed even longer because his boss had remembered this wasn't the first time Sam was late. He hated his job. It didn't matter that the call-in time ended at 8 o'clock, his boss had given him some paperwork to go over. That part wasn't officially one of his tasks. But he had done it.

“Hey, you need help?” someone asked. Sam snapped out of his thoughts, he was still standing at the street and a sleek black car had stopped in front of him. The driver was leaning out of the open window and grinning up to him. The rain didn't seem to annoy him, if the smile was anything to go by. He had to squint little to prevent the violation of the water.

“Uhm,” Sam got out and then wrapped his arms around himself. He didn't feel particularly cold, but goosebumps appeared on his skin and made him shiver. “My car won't start and, er, I don't have my phone with me. Could I maybe… If it’s–”

He was interrupted before he was able to properly express his question and make more of a fool of himself. “Get in. I can drive you home,” the man said and pulled his head back into the car while maintaining eye contact.

“What? I don't know… I can’t just–”

“Come on, you'll catch a cold if you stand there any longer.” The man was still smiling at him. Sam really liked his smile. It was soft and warm and Sam couldn't stop himself from returning it. Hell, it was probably really stupid but– no, scratch the probably, it was really stupid, but Sam walked around the car, opened the passenger door, and slid onto the seat.

Every doubt instantly vanished.

“I’m drenching your car,” he said after he closed the door. Regardless, Sam leant back and relaxed into the seat. It was like coming home.

“It's fine.” And in fact, the man didn't look at all bothered by the little puddle forming at Sam’s feet, he simply focused his attention on the road and started the car.

Sam loosened up, feeling oddly content. He didn't do this normally. Get into a car with someone he didn't know the name of, someone who could possibly be a serial killer or something. Actually, that thought made him falter.

“How do I know you're not some kind of serial killer who picked me as his next victim?”

The driver gave a silent laugh and shot him an amused look. “How do I know you're not one?”

“You don't,” Sam grinned. “What's your name by the way?”

“Dean,” he said and glanced at him. “Winchester.”

“I'm Sam,” Sam said, leaving out his last name. Dean hummed in response.

They drove in silence for a while, Sam enjoying the rumbling of the engine and the sound of the persistent drumming of the rain. He slid his right hand across the door and let the left caress the black vinyl of the bench seat underneath him. He pretended not to notice the glances Dean aimed at him and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding rapidly, he didn't know why. He wasn’t afraid. It was more like the opposite.

“You okay?”

Sam needed a second to process that the question was directed at him. He blinked and looked at Dean. He appeared to be slightly worried and Sam tried for a smile though he'd rather shed a tear, something in his belly fluttering with excitement at being here. “Yeah.” His voice was raspy so he cleared his throat. “I am. Thanks, for, for driving me home.”

“No problem.” They fell into silence again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Sam was sure he could contently spend hours like this. Here, in the passenger seat of this car, with Dean driving, just driving, no destination in mind. He didn't want to go home. His apartment didn't feel like home. It was lonely, wrong, it was too much and yet somehow something was missing. He should take a vacation, go on a road trip, maybe that would help with the restlessness he was always enduring.

He couldn't sleep at night. His mattress was too soft and the room too quiet. When he was able to sleep, he was plagued with nightmares. He never remembered them in the morning, but they made him paranoid of the dark and the shadows in the corners. He wished he had someone to soothe him back to sleep when he woke up after a particular bad one when it was still too early to get up.

The car stopped. Sam looked up, Dean was staring forward. “We're there,” he said and fumbled with the car keys, he had turned the car off completely. And yeah, the car was parked in front of Sam’s building complex, which meant they had driven at least 15 minutes to get here. It certainly didn’t feel like it.

“Yeah…” Sam muttered. He averted his eyes and bit his lip. They both hesitated. “Hey, um… Do you maybe want to come in? For a coffee or something?”

Sam didn’t know where that came from, he had just asked a stranger that could very well be a danger of some kind to his apartment. He didn’t regret it, though. He turned his head to Dean, who was smiling shyly, but his eyes were crinkled at the sides.

“I would like that.”

Sam’s chest felt warm at that, his mouth turning up at the corners. He finally exited the car and jogged the last bit to the door, Dean right behind him.

It was still raining, though not so much anymore, Sam’s hair was sticking to his neck and face and his yellow polo shirt felt uncomfortable on his skin. The door clicked open and they stepped in.

When they entered his apartment, Sam immediately stepped out of his soaked shoes, Dean following suit.

“Do you need a towel?” He asked Dean. He wasn’t really wet, but Sam felt like he had to offer one anyway.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean replied. He stood a little awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was in Sam’s hallway.

“I’m gonna change real quick,” said Sam. He pointed at the door at the end of the hallway. “There’s the kitchen, coffee machine’s on the counter. Help yourself, I’ll be there in a minute.”

When Sam came into the kitchen, freshly dressed and hair still a bit damp, two mugs of coffee were on the table with Dean sitting on a chair facing the door. Sam sat down across from him and tried the coffee Dean made him. His eyebrows rose up.

“Thanks, man, that’s just how I like it!”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned at him. “That’s nice.” He too took a sip.

“How come you were out at this time?” Sam asked him, genuinely curious about the man and wanting to know more about him.

“Oh, I’m… visiting someone,” Dean said vaguely and shrugged. Sam didn’t comment on Dean not really answering the question.

“Family?”

“Yeah…” Dean looked a bit troubled, but then he put his happy face back on and not-so-subtly changed the topic. “How about you, you grew up here, or…?”

“Nah, I only moved here about a year ago,” Sam admitted.

Dean swallowed and took another sip of his coffee. “So, do you like it here?”

Sam considered it for a moment. “I think I do… It’s boring sometimes, I guess. Nothing ever happens, but it’s nice.” He paused. “Sometimes I feel I like my life only because I’m supposed to, not because I actually do.”

Dean nodded, and seemed to understand what Sam meant, though he wished he could wipe away the distressed face Dean made. He tried to hide it, but he still had that sadness in his eyes that made Sam’s heart ache.

He looked away and thought about the car ride. Just like then they didn’t need words to fill the silence.

A pang rang through his body and he sat up straight. “How the hell do you know where a live? I never told you!”

Panic spread through him as he regarded Dean with hawk eyes. The man in front of him froze and gingerly made eye contact with him. Sam hoped he would explain himself, hoped there was a logical explanation behind it. “I never asked you, did I?” was all Dean said in a whisper. Sam swallowed.

“You did not.” Sam’s voice was stern. “Who the fuck are you? Oh Jesus, you are some kind of killer, am I right? Oh fuck…” Sam scrunched up his face and took a deep breath. No, he didn't actually believe that. But it was creepy nonetheless, a stranger stalking him and knowing where he lived, luring him into his car.

“I would never hurt you. Promise.”

Sam was very aware of how he didn’t deny the killer accusation.

He stood up, trying to keep it together with all he had. What should he do now? His heart raced. “I think you should leave,” he said, hating how his voice shivered.

Dean was quiet for a second, but then got up. “Sammy…” he said, but when Sam didn’t react his shoulders slumped and he gave a short nod, eyes focused on Sam’s face like it was the last time he’d see him. He bit his lip and walked, head down past him out of the kitchen.

The front door slammed shut.

Sam released a shuddering breath and clasped his hand on the chair, keeping himself from falling over. At once he regretted that he had said anything. Now, he felt nothing. No relief, just a hollow emptiness.

The warm sensation in his chest he hadn’t realized he had was gone. Why? He probably just averted a horrible death. But if that was true, if Dean really had wanted to kill him, to hurt him, he wouldn’t have left the house when Sam asked him to.

Sam Wesson felt like he had shut off the best thing that had ever happened to him in his tedious life. A creepy stalker that took his shitty day and made a difference, broke up his routine that Sam so desperately wanted to get away from.

–

There was something weird about the situation. And Sam didn’t mean the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about Dean. Something was wrong and Sam couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Realistically he knew of course, that this Dean guy–if that really was his name–had some serious problems. He knew stuff about him, no stranger should know. He knew where he lived, he knew how he drank his coffee (what the hell?), and it probably wasn’t a coincidence either that he had been driving past Sam that night. Sam’s mind didn’t even want to go there.

(He still hadn’t called anyone to fix his car. If he didn’t want to keep walking to work, he really needed to take it to a mechanic soon…)

Sam wished he didn’t have such mixed feeling about this. He should forget about it, maybe call the police if he was really worried–but to be honest with himself; he was mostly in remorse about kicking Dean out. He… he didn’t do anything to him, after all. He didn’t try to kill him, for one. Sam felt stupid about that serial killer comment. If Dean really would have wanted to kill him, he could have done that plenty of times while they were together.

The next time Sam saw him, or his car actually, was a few days later. He didn’t expect to ever see him again. He had hoped, maybe. He talked himself into believing that he only wanted some answers. _Why_ , for example. But the moment he saw that black car again, his heart made a jump. It was parked in front of some motel, not far from Sam’s grocery store of choice, and that put Sam in a conflicting position.

He couldn’t be sure that was the same car.

Oh, who was he kidding, a car like that wasn’t exactly something you saw everyday. Sam recognized it, even though he only got to properly look at it from the inside. Yeah, there was no doubt this was _the_ car.

But he still couldn’t go into that motel and look for Dean. That was a stupid idea. He quickly walked the rest of the way to the store and firmly tried to keep his mind away from that creepy stalker. Because that was all he was.

–

It was the weekend after that; Sam was at a bar. He hadn’t slept in what felt like forever. And Sam blamed Dean. His life was even shittier since he had that fucking encounter with that fucking _stranger_ who dug his claws into Sam and took over his mind like he belonged there. Dean was gonna be the end of him.

He took a huge gulp of his beer, his third bottle. It wasn’t enough, he was still way too sober. Next, he was going to order something stronger. Maybe then he could get some sleep tonight.

He drained the last of his beer and let his gaze wander around the bar. He nearly choked when green eyes met his. Dean’s. Apparently he didn’t expect to see him either as he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Sam put down the bottle, eyes never leaving Dean, who scrambled for his jacket that he had draped over the chair before dashing to the exit. Sam quickly did the same and promptly followed him, fuming as he stumbled outside.

How fucking dare he showing up like this?

Sam was greeted by the cool evening air and immediately searched for the damn car, rushing over when he spotted it. Dean was already seated when Sam reached the passenger door and yanked it open before he could drive off.

When they were both sitting, Sam let out a relieved breath, the fight leaving him. Dean was motionless, both hands on the steering wheel, staring forward. A lump grew in Sam’s throat. He wanted to escape but he couldn’t move.

Maybe this was where he wanted to be.

“Drive,” he said. It came out emotionless, a bit tired. “And don’t you fucking stop.”

The engine roared to life. Sam could finally close his eyes. He leaned his head against the window and let the vibrations of the engine run through him. For the first time in a week he fell asleep easily, heading out into the unknown. But at least he had company.

–

Sam woke when the rumbling of the Impala stopped.

The Impala–because for some reason Sam recognized the car model was a Chevrolet Impala. He must have picked that up somewhere.

He blinked his eyes open and raised his head. It was still dark outside and they were at a gas station. Dean was filling the gas tank and hadn’t yet noticed that Sam was awake.

“Sammy?” Dean asked as he got back in the car. His voice was shaky and he barely even looked at Sam, who didn't even think about commenting on the ‘Sammy’, he just regarded him silently. When he didn't answer Dean turned to him and took a deep breath. It calmed him a bit, but when he searched for something in Sam's eyes that he didn't seem to find, he tensed up again.

“Why did you do that?” Dean asked. His face radiated such confusion, and it was this moment that it truly hit Sam what he had done. That probably wasn't the most normal of actions. Yet, Sam refused to feel ashamed or afraid of the consequences.

He looked out of the passenger window. “Where are we?” he asked calmly.

“About–... about three hours west. I think we crossed the state line.”

“Okay.”

There was a minute where nobody said anything. Sam couldn't help but wonder why they weren't on the road again. It was the only thing making sense right now–driving.

“Sam?” said Dean. This time Sam turned in the seat to give him his full attention. “Do you remember me?”

Sam furrowed his brows. “You’re not exactly someone I could forget.”

Dean bit his lip. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t the awkwardness you experienced when you sat with a stranger who you had nothing to say to. It was more like the silence between two good friends, or family, maybe. You could talk about anything but you didn’t have to, you could simply lean back and enjoy the ride and the company.

Sam dwelled in this feeling of connecting with someone without actually doing anything. Dean was someone he somehow was familiar with right off the bat. He had missed this presence of another human next to him, of another person that would have his back no matter what.

Weird, wasn’t it? He didn’t know him after all.

“We’re gonna keep driving or what?”

It was dumb, so dumb, but that might for once be something good.


	2. Chapter 2

“We should have a talk, probably.”

Sam didn’t look over, heat rising in his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess.”

They kept staring out of the front windshield. Sam didn’t know how to convey in words what he felt about their whole… situation. So he was waiting for Dean to take the lead.

“Do you want to stop for the night?” Dean finally asked.

Sam risked a glance. That wasn’t what he had expected him to say. Dean was focused on the road, but he did look like that wasn’t what he initially had wanted to say. Before Sam could answer, Dean spoke again.

“Or, actually. I should drive you back probably, I mean.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Don’t you wanna go home?”

Silence. That question struck close to Sam, and he didn’t even know why. Home? He wanted to stay right here with this man he had met not that long ago and not go back to that place he _should_ be calling home in his heart, not his head.

“You wanna get rid of me?” He asked instead, meaning it as a joke, but it came out bearing more concern and fear than he wanted to admit. His voice sounded so small all of a sudden.

Dean huffed and took the next exit. “That’s not what I–It’s just? This is a very strange situation for both of us, don’t you get that?”

Sam’s heart picked up, he swallowed. “Yeah, I. I mean, yes, of course. We should–I should go home, yeah.” God, his ears were burning hot, what the hell was happening here.

They drove, again, in silence, for the next few minutes. But this time, Sam was dying with his embarrassment and wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. His throat closed up at the rejection but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try for a neutral face.

Dean stopped the car. Great, he was gonna throw him out.

“I’m,” Dean said. He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna get us room. Wait here?”

Sam’s head snapped toward Dean. “What?”

Dean was already halfway out of the car and didn’t look back.

They were in front of a motel, and Dean went to the reception. Sam closed his eyes and blinked in confusion.

Shortly after, Sam found himself standing awkwardly in the middle of the two bed motel room, not quite sure what to do with his limbs. Or what was happening in general.

Dean came back in with two duffel bags, throwing them on a chair by the table. Sam just stared at him. At least he looked as unsure as Sam felt. Where the hell did all the ease go?

“I thought–” Sam started. Thought you were dropping me off? Thought you were driving me back home? Killing me on the side of the road? He looked at Dean as these thoughts swirled in his mind, not sure how to voice any of them.

“I’ll bring you home tomorrow. We’re quite far away, and I shouldn’t really be driving anymore,” Dean said and rubbed his neck, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Sam said because what else was there to say? Dean didn’t owe him anything and what even was it that Sam expected here?

His head hurt.

“We should go to sleep.”

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn’t even have his tooth brush with him.

Dean pointed to one of duffels, saying, “There are some clothes in there that should fit you if you want to change.” He took something out of the other one and went to the bathroom.

Once again Sam nodded, even though Dean was already gone, and hesitated before approaching the bag and looking inside. Most of the contents were simple shirts and a whole lot of flannel, nothing Sam usually wore. Also a few jeans and one pair of sweatpants. Everything did look like it could be around his size and Sam took a shirt and the sweatpants and changed quickly, trying not to feel weird about wearing someone else's clothes. But he couldn’t help but wonder whose those were and why Dean had them with him.

He went into the bathroom after Dean, using the toilet and giving his face a quick rub down over the sink, hoping with some part of his brain to wash away the embarrassment. His face ended up looking redder than before so he stayed a few minutes longer before going back into the bedroom.

The lights were already out when he left the bathroom though Dean probably wasn’t sleeping yet. Well, Sam wasn’t about to say anything and climbed into bed, hating himself for ruining this, wondering idly if it hadn’t already been fucked up from the beginning anyway.

–

Sam woke up to an empty room. He shook the fragments of the dream off that he couldn’t remember anymore, and looked around.

For a moment he thought Dean had ditched him, left him alone somewhere in… somewhere. But he didn’t have the feeling that was something Dean would do, even though he had no basis for that.

He didn’t have to worry for too long. He noticed the bags were still there, and as he was sitting up, the front door opened and Dean came in, holding a brown paper bag and two to-go coffee cups in a cardboard carrying tray.

Dean grinned at him. “Oh, hey. You’re awake.” He held up the bag and cups. “I brought food.”

He put it on the table and Sam sat there on the bed, not sure how to react. Eventually, he stood up and joined Dean at the table, who was taking a sip from the coffee.

Sam looked into the bag.

“It’s quite late already and I couldn’t find a place that still served breakfast, so I bought some rabbit food.”

“That’s fine,” said Sam, trying to hide the uncertainty in his voice. But that wasn’t because of the salad (it was a fruit salad).

Dean took out a burger and Sam couldn’t keep the sneer in. That was a whole lot of cholesterol right after waking up. Dean grinned as if reading his thoughts.

“Okay, so I was thinking,” Dean started. Sam broke the eye contact and concentrated on his salad. “I was thinking…” He took a bite.

Sam huffed a breath. This would be an awkward conversation and he shouldn’t make a joke.

“Do you even want to go back?”

“What?” Sam froze.

Dean put down his burger, but now he was the one who didn’t make eye contact. Sam, on the other hand, just stared at Dean.

“I’m sick of this,” he said. Sam didn’t understand. “It hasn’t even been that long and–and you don’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about. And you should go back, but I want you to stay.”

“Here?”

“With me.”

Yes, please, take me with you, he wanted to say but something held him back. Something at the back of his mind was telling him not to, that said he needed to go home and stay away from all this. But everything else screamed this was it, this was his home, where he needed to be.

“No,” he said, more to himself than Dean.

“No?” Dean looked taken aback, hurt for a moment, but quickly schooled his features back to normal. He licked his lips and nodded once.

Sam’s heart leaped up. “Wait, no! No, I don’t want to go back. Yes, I want to stay.”

Dean looked weary. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Sam said truthfully. “But I really want to.”

“Okay…” Dean picked his burger up and continued eating. Just like that. Sam didn’t feel like this conversation was over, but he didn’t know what else to say. Dean seemed like he hadn’t gotten everything off his chest yet, and for a moment Sam wondered how he knew.

He took the plastic fork and started on his salad.

–

Sam took a shower after they ate. He shut of the spray and stepped out, stopping in his step as he saw himself in the mirror. A week ago he was in his own apartment, doing the exact same thing, and didn’t even _think_ about things more crazy than eating pizza for the second evening in a row. His life had been boring. But now he didn’t even know where his life was going.

Yeah, rationally, Sam knew he was crazy. Risking his life on a chance. Hell, open a dictionary, he’s probably the definition for both crazy _and_ stupid. But after their talk, he’s back to the calmness. Looking back, he realized his uncertainty and nervousness definitely didn’t come from throwing away his life, but from the prospect of possibly being rejected.

No, he had no idea what the future would bring or what he had gotten himself into, but the last thing he was, was afraid. If there wouldn’t be this unsettlement still lingering in his chest.

–

“Just don’t think about how this isn’t your underwear,” he muttered under his breath. Dean had promised him it was clean.

“What?” Dean asked, slamming (gently lowering) the car’s tailgate.

“Nothing.” 

Dean shrugged and went to the driver's seat.

“Listen,” Dean said when they were on the road again. “There is some stuff you need to know. I can’t tell you because you won’t believe me right now, but we’ll get there.”

“Okay?” Sam furrowed his brows. “Like what?”

“Like weird stuff. And stuff you once knew, but uhh, I can’t tell ya, shut up,” Dean grumbled and went red.

“What? Like human instincts?”

“No, I dunno, stuff.” His voice had a finality to it and Sam hated that he didn’t finish what he wanted to so obviously say.

“Just spit it out man.”

“You have to see for yourself, you won’t believe me.”

“What the fuck, did you kill someone or what?” Back to that, Sam didn’t even mean it, but he was getting angry at him.

Dean sighed and his jaw worked.

“Why you always gotta ask that?”

“What? Not like you wouldn’t’ve killed me already if you really wanted to.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam! Nobody wants to fucking kill you here, just drop it, we’re done with this.”

Sam crossed his arms and glared out of his window. Oddly enough, he could nearly burst from happiness at their fight, if he wasn’t that frustrated. He let a minute pass.

“Where are we going?”

Dean didn’t answer and Sam wanted to strangle him.

–

They rolled into town an hour before sunset. They didn’t talk about it again, until they settled into a new motel, the room not much different from the last one. 

Dean pulled up a newspaper, placed it on the table and pointed to an article on the page.

“What’s that?” asked Sam.

“Read it,” said Dean and pulled up a chair next to the one in front of the paper. Sam sat and started reading.

 _Family of four brutally murdered inside own home,_ was the heading and the article explained how the family was found after the kids didn’t show up for school and the parents for work. The door had been locked, no signs of forced entry or a struggle. Each person was stabbed by the family’s own kitchen knives. The police filed it as a murder-suicide, either done by the mother or the father, which wasn’t clear yet in the article.

Sam lifts his head. “Okay? Why are you showing me this?”

Dean grinned. “Well, I think this wasn’t one of the parents.”

Sam raised one eyebrow. Did he dare…? “You hinting at something here?”

“If you’re asking if I did this, I swear to god, Sammy:”

“No, no. Okay, sorry,” Sam said. “So why do think think it wasn’t a murder-suicide?”

Dean reached under the paper and put the one that had been under it on top. “Because of this.”

Sam skimmed the article. “Because some family somewhere died the same way? Nearly fifty years ago? Seriously?”

Dean looked put off. “No, man. Look, it was the same town, the same house.” Dean looked at him with wide eyes. “So, what do you think?”

Sam shook his head slightly. Dean sighed. “Okay, how about this: Let’s say monsters exist, what could have killed–”

“I’m stopping you here. Not even commenting on whatever game you’re playing–you don’t know it was the same house. And where the hell did you get that old newspaper?”

“Stole it from the library and looked at the police reports from that case, so yeah, definitely the same house.”

Sam closed his eyes and turned his head. What the fuck? “When?”

“Before I came to see you.”

His heart picked up. That wasn’t right. “You know you’re contradicting yourself, right? Visiting family, my ass. And how the fuck do you even know who I am?”

Dean stayed silent. Sam stood up and paced around. Something had gone enormously wrong here. That man sitting at the table was some kind of psychopath and Sam was willingly following him; even though it all screamed danger.

He took a breath and faced Dean. “You’ve got to help me here. Make me believe you aren’t some kind of crazy person and that you have a damn good reason for your interest in that murder over there.”

Dean was fighting with himself. “People are dying and we can stop it, Sam.”

“How? You want me to believe it was the same person that killed this family and the one fifty years ago?”

“No, not quite, but yes. I’ve been doing this my whole life Sam, and I already checked the facts. Those murders weren’t a coincidence. And you will believe me after I show you, I promise. You’ll think so too, and everything will be fine in the end. We’ve just got to jog your memory…” The last part was muttered but, Sam disregarded in anyway as he tried to figure out his own part in this.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me show you, okay?” Dean practically begged, it (nearly) made Sam smile. “This is a really easy case, and I already did the groundwork. Now don’t freak out, but this was most likely a ghost, a poltergeist possibly, and the only thing we have to do is figure out who that was.”

Sam stayed quiet. He wanted to believe him, but it wasn’t like Dean made it easy for him. A ghost. Fine, let’s indulge the crazy person.

“Sure, why not, let’s gank that ghost,” he said. It didn’t feel too wrong in his mouth. He started laughing. No, he was doomed.

–

Talking to Dean was easy, natural. They talked about nothing in particular at first, but when Dean told him about the hunt he was on before this one Sam mostly just listened, still unsure what to think.

“You said you’re been doing this your whole life.”

“Hunting? Yeah,” said Dean as they waited for the waitress to bring their food. “That’s what I do. Day in, day out. Well, basically. Short story is, mom was killed by a demon in a fire when I was four, dad raised me on the road and then I started getting into the business bit by bit.”

Sam didn’t want to comment on the demon bit. “Where’s your dad now?” He asked instead.

“Died a few years back.” Dean shrugged, not elaborating.

“Oh.” Sam was playing with the napkin, ripping it into tiny shreds and piling them on the table.

“Yeah, well.” Dean took a sip from his beer. He was nervous, Sam could tell. Like he wanted to ask something.

“What?”

Dean smirked in a not convincing way. “What about you? Is that–I mean, what’s with your… past? Your family?”

Sam released a long breath, he hated it when people asked him that. He just didn’t like to talk about it. “My parents are dead,” he said, because Dean shared his past too, even if what he said was definitely warped by some kind of trauma or hallucinations or whatever was going on with Dean.

“I have a sister, Kelly, but I was never really close to her.” He furrowed his brows. “I don’t know when I last spoke to her, probably don’t even have her number anymore.”

“Wow,” said Dean and leaned back, throwing an arm over the back of the seat. “And you… don’t miss your family?”

“Not really…” said Sam honestly. “I barely remember them, to be honest.”

“Sounds lonely.”

Sam shrugged. Having no family left was never the reason he felt lonely. He didn’t miss his parents, or his sister. But because they had moved a lot he didn’t have any old friends and now as an adult he hasn’t made many either. When he finally decided to move to a place to stay there for once it was with every intention of putting down roots, makings friends, maybe finding love.

But he wasn't lonely, he realized as he looked at Dean, at least not anymore. Dean with his freckles and pouty lips and his soothing car that he could so easily sleep in, despite the classic rock, he came into his life and acted like he belonged there. Dean had ripped him out of his boring life and–no, Sam put up no resistance, practically threw himself into this. It should scare him, make him at least question his sanity, but Dean had come right out of nowhere, and swept him off his feet. It felt right.

Something was still off, something was still wrapping Sam in paranoia. But it wasn’t Dean. 

–

The next morning they checked out the house. It’s getting sold already and Dean decided they should visit it during open house hours so they can take advantage of the listing agent who can hopefully tell them a bit more about the house’s history.

When Dean told him about the EMF meter in the car Sam’s dreams have long dissolved into consciousness, however, leaving him with a feeling, a bone deep trust in Dean. He couldn’t bring himself to argue how detecting ghosts with that was absurd. Sam looked over the front yard as they stood on the porch. He heard Dean knock at the front door and the a female voice greeting them. He turned his attention back to Dean and the woman, a slight smile on his lips.

“Everything is freshly renovated,” said the realtor, an older lady with a bright smile. “Of course we kept the beautiful walls and base architecture of the building. We don’t want to the erase the history after all.”

“19th century, was it?” asked Sam, looking around, looking for… Hell, if he knew.

The realtor nodded excitedly but before she could continue Dean chimed in. “While we’re on the history of this house… What happened to the family that lived here before? We heard they were killed.”

Her face fell. “Ah, yes, I am obliged to tell you, but I was trying to make you fall in love with this home first.” She laughed, a bit embarrassed. “It was a family murder-suicide. They were all found in the cellar, but I assure you–all stains are gone, no residue of their death is left.”

Dean nodded in all seriousness. He caught Sam’s glace and raised an eyebrow, grinning slightly. “So, how about the furniture?”

“Oh, all of their possessions are gone too, of course! Most of it has been re-furnished, except the objects that have been here as long as the house itself, I believe.”

Sam furrowed his brows but Dean perked up at that. “Really? Like what?”

The realtor sighed and led them to another room, a study next to the living room on the first floor. “This piano for instance. A few old but sturdy shelves, I think. Stuff like that, I could give you a full list if you wanted.” She blushed and put a hand on the piano. “Of course, if you’re looking to sell those things after you bought this house nobody would stop you, but they’ve been here as long as I’ve had this job. They are a part of the house.”

Dean hummed and nudged Sam with his shoulder. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, he had no idea what Dean expected from him or what he should have gotten from those ramblings.

It was a rather beautiful house, but no ghosts in sight whatsoever. Not that Sam even knew how a ghost was supposed to look like. He doubted they were looking for a sheet clad dead person.

Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, but how often did you have to sell this house?”

“Well, in my 35 years as a realtor… this has to be the fifth or sixth time.”

“Did the prior owners all die?” Sam asked, now curious.

“No. They all moved, except for that poor family, of course.”

“And what do you know about the original owner?” Dean asked. “The origin of this house maybe?”

She pursed her lips. “Not much, really.” Then she smiled brightly, the professional realtor all over again. “But I can tell you all about the architecture! What do you say, shall we look at the first floor?”

“Uh, before we do, may I use the bathroom here?” asked Dean with a crooked grin and Sam knew he was about to check for EMF.

She gave an affirmative and Dean smirked at Sam and patted him on the shoulder, his hand brushing down his arm as he walked away.

–

“So what now?” asked Sam when they were back in the motel. “Was that useful? Did you find anything?”

Dean let himself fall onto the bed and turned on the TV. “Okay, so here is the driving theory: There is a ghost in that house that spooks out the residents and also seems to kill, maybe if they stay too long, or maybe because those two families had children, I don’t know.”

Sam snorted and sat on the other bed. “Yeah, right. Still with the ghost theory.”

Dean ignored him. “What we now need to do, is look at the property records. Who owned it and when, all that jazz. Maybe we can talk to someone who lived there and then moved. But we need to figure out who that ghost is to get rid of it. Well, there are other methods, but this is the easiest. It was most likely someone who lived there, since the ghost is really possessive of that house and most likely died there.”

Sam let that all settle in for a moment. Not believing, but still wanting to indulge him. “How do you know that?” 

“What of it?” Dean turned his head, focusing his attention on him.

“How do you know that much about the ghost. I thought all we–you know is that it killed a few people.”

Dean sighed and started explaining. “A ghost can’t really… _move_ from the place it died, you know? They’re either bound to the place where they died or to an object. If they’re bound to their body we need to salt and burn the remains, and if they’re bound to an object we need to burn that object.”

“This is insane.”

Dean hummed and concentrated on the TV.

Sam kept his mouth shut until the commercial break. He wanted to tell Dean why that was bullshit and that they should go somewhere else, do something else… But when the first commercial hit, all that came out was “So where do we find those property records?”

Dean smiled at him. “I thought you’d never ask. You’ll like this part, it involves a hell lot of research.” He pushed up form the bed. “But let’s eat lunch first, cool?”

Sam nodded and sighed.

– 

It didn’t take much to find the property records of the house, they were publicly accessible online and not a hassle to get their hands on. They found a couple who used to live in the “haunted” house and now they were well on their way to the Everett’s new place on the other side of the town.

Sam was fidgeting in his seat. “There is no way whatsoever they’re gonna believe we’re from the FBI. Have you ever met a fed? Me neither, but I still know they have _badges_. Like ‘ _Hi, I’m from the FBI, look at my fucking badge so you know I’m legit’_.”

“I said I _usually_ fake being FBI, not that that’s what we’re gonna do here” said Dean, in perfect calmness.

“Not to mention that this is illegal,” Sam kept on going. “Impersonating a Federal Agent. You can receive up to three years in prison for that. Did you know that?” He was getting infuriated.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course I know it’s a crime, law wonder. But they don’t know we’re fake. Take a look in the glove compartment. The box.”

Sam huffed but did as told. He pulled out the cardboard box, opened it and inside were… “What the fuck is this?”

He took out one of the fake IDs. _U.S Department of Homeland Security_ , it read. A picture of Dean, next to it, a name: Alan Copeland.

He looked at the next one. _Health Inspector_ , it said and Isaac Monroe Jr. was apparently the name of the man in the photo. It was the same picture of Dean as before.

His hands shook as he looked at another one. _Department of Investigation_. FBI in bold letters in the middle, and to the side, a picture of Sam. Josh Harris was the name beneath it and the signature was a damn good forgery of Sam’s own handwriting.

“What the–” his voice was breathy and shocked. He stared at his photograph. “Where did you get this photo of me?”

Sam glanced over to Dean who was looking at him with a guarded expression. He didn’t answer.

“I can’t even remember taking it!” He struggled to remember his current ID photo, it probably was in his wallet, but he couldn’t recall what photo he’d used. The fake FBI photo was at most a year old. “Did you snoop around in my apartment?” he snapped and brandished the ID around. “What the heck, Dean?”

Dean frowned slightly at him and sighed. “Yes,” he grumbled. “I found that photo in your apartment and made a few fake IDs the day after. Happy?”

“Not in the slightest.”

It was the explanation that made the most sense, regardless of it _still_ being fucking disturbing, but Dean could’ve at least tried to say it with more conviction. Dean muttered something Sam didn’t hear and shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly.

Sam frowned and he felt his lips purse against his will. He turned his head and looked out of the window, watching the downtown pass by.

“What’s going on with you now?” asked Dean with a sigh.

“You’re stupid.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? I have fake IDs with your face on it, so what?”

Sam’s nose crinkled and he cut his eyes sideways for a tiny moment before they were back on his side of the car. Dean was looking at him.

“What are we gonna say, huh? _Excuse us, sir, have you noticed any ghosts milling around the house you lived in a few years ago?_ ” Sam said in mocking tone. “ _We’re the FBI, special ghost hunters division_.”

“No,” Dean said slowly. Sam had to give him credit for being so patient about this; Sam had lost his composure the minute Dean announced they would be questioning this couple. “But they had a reason to move, and chances are it was because they didn’t feel safe there anymore, possibly having seen some weird shit they couldn’t explain.”

“And we’re pretending we’re considering buying the house.”

“Yes, we’ll tell them we’re interested in buying and they’ll tell us why that’s a bad idea.”

“I can tell you why that’s a bad idea,” Sam said and rapidly turned around to glare at Dean. “One, people don’t do that, and two, oh yeah, there is no such thing as ghosts, and even if there _was_ , why would they mention it? All it would do is make them look like fucking idiots.”

“It’s worth a try,” Dean shrugged. Then he actually had the audacity to grin at him, his eyes shining in amusement. “Am _I_ making myself look like a fucking idiot?”

“Sometimes,” Sam grudgingly admitted. “Most of the time. I don’t know why I keep up with you.”

“You love me, that’s why,” Dean joked, but Sam thought it probably wasn’t that far from the truth at all.

–

“Wh–Why are you here again?” Mrs. Everett asked as she placed the cups of tea on the coffee table.

“They want to buy _The House_ ,” Mr. Everett answered for them and you could hear the emphasis on _the house_. Dean smiled and nodded next to Sam on the couch.

She curled her lips and sat down in the armchair. “And what exactly do you want to know from us, Mr…?” Sam eyed the tea. Why the hell not, they were already here. He grabbed the cup and took a sip. Dean could handle the talking.

“Gibbs,” Dean told her again. “We’re, uh, we’ve always wanted to live in an old house, right, Sammy?” Sam nodded and took a biscuit. “A house with history, and, and–”

“We love the unique style of the period,” Sam supplied, hiding a sigh.

“Right. Victorian-era. But we noticed a lot of the previous owners moved out it, and now with the murders…” Dean drifted of, the Everetts gave each other a look. “We thought maybe you could tell us a bit about it? You see, we’re new in this town, and… Is it a bad neighborhood or something?”

“It’s not–, no,” said Mrs. Everett and stocked ended what she was about to say, changing the topic from the house to the family. “We’ve heard about the deaths, but the newspaper said it was one of the parents?”

“Oh! Right, of course,” Dean immediately backpedalled. Sam leaned back and nibbled on the biscuit. “I was just–We looked into the property records and many of the owners didn’t live very long there, even though it’s such a beautiful house.”

“It is,” said Mr. Everett, a bit exasperated. “But it wasn’t for us. I don’t think it’s for anybody. Just find yourself something else, you don’t want to live there.”

Dean propped his arms on his thighs and leaned forward. “Why’s that, Mr. Everett?”

It was his wife that answered. “One of the steps creaks and I think I saw a rat once in the cellar. Besides, there was a draft so often, I couldn’t live like that anymore. The windows were probably sealed badly.”

Sam wanted to roll his eyes but Dean seemed to taken an interest in what was being said. “Really? Were there… other strange things? Maybe stuff you couldn’t explain?”

The couple frowned at them. “Why are you asking that?” Mr. Everett demanded to know.

Sam glanced at Dean. He was smiling.

“We just want to know what’s going on in the house.”

“You’re not really interested in buying it, are you?” Dean hesitated. “No, we’re not.”

“But you think you can stop him?” asked Mrs. Everett, wringing her hands.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Stop who?”

“What did you see, Mrs. Everett?” asked Dean.

Mrs. Everett exchanged another look with her husband, he shrugged nearly imperceptible. “It… It sounds a bit weird…”

Dean smiled patiently at her while Sam’s eyes flung back and forth between them.

“We love weird, please tell us?”

She took a deep breath. “Okay... So… Well, the police didn’t believe us, because there were no signs of a break in, but I swear we both saw him.” Mr. Everett nodded in emphasis. “There was… this man, sometimes. He…”

“He was there one moment and gone in the next. Like he was...”

Sam tried to hide his frown. Just because the police couldn’t find signs of a break in, didn’t mean it was a ghost. Dean gave them an understanding nod. “Did anything else strange happen?”

“Well,” Mrs. Everett gripped her mug tighter and lowered her voice. “Things would fall down a lot, break… But I probably bumped into them and didn’t notice, or placed them badly on the counter, you know, I was just always so afraid when I saw him on the other side of the room, so I might have–”

Mr. Everett interrupted her by placing a hand on her shoulder. “No, it definitely wasn’t your clumsiness. At least most of the time.” He gave Dean a tight smile. “You probably don’t believe us, do you?”

Dean shrugged and cocked his head. “Say we do. Can you tell us anything else? What he looked like?”

“He always wore the same thing. A long coat, a tie… he had a cane and one of those magician hats. But the craziest thing was his beard. His chin had no hair and the rest of the beard was… split in the middle and each beard half converged to a point.”

“Oh, you mean side whiskers,” grinned Sam. “Those were a big hit about 150 years ago.”

Dean bumped his elbow into Sam. “How the hell do you know that? You’ve never even had a beard.”

Sam grinned and shrugged. “Some things you read or hear somewhere and simply remember the facts and not where the info came from.”

“You’re such a nerd,” said Dean, but there was a fondness in his voice. Sam’s grin got wider.

Mr. Everett cleared his throat and Sam and Dean snapped their attention back to the Everetts. “Well, I don’t know what that beard style is called, but side whiskers sounds like it could be right…”

“Great!” said Dean. “Thank you so much.”

“Do you think he killed those people?” asked Mrs. Everett, worry in her eyes. “Is he dangerous?” “We’ll definitely check it out,” said Dean and clapped Sam on the tight. Sam started in surprise. “Before we decide if we want to buy it, right?” he asked, keeping up their cover. Sam rolled his eyes, smiled and nodded.

“And he didn’t visit you here?” asked Sam and squinted his eyes at the couple.

“No, luckily not.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know where we live now,” added Mrs. Everett.

“Let’s hope so,” said Dean and stood. “Anyway, thanks again, what told us really helps us, uh, decide if it’s worth it.”

Mr. Everett stood up too and shook his hand. “If you want my honest opinion: Don’t buy this house and stay the hell away from it.”

Dean’s answer was a blinding smile.

–

On their way back, Sam checked the information about the house again (on Dean’s demand). The _ghost story_ wasn’t much more convincing than before. Someone played a bad prank on that couple and didn’t own up to it. That’s it. 

“I don’t feel like it makes sense that your ghost would be haunting that house and only killing some of them… The murder happened 50 years ago. Do you want to know how many couples lived there in between that one and the last? Nine. That’s pretty much a new owner every five years.”

Dean hummed and looked over. “You’re right. There must be something else. Good detecting skills, I knew you had it in you.” He grinned.

Sam threw him a bitchface. “Whatever.”

“So? Did you find anything?”

Sam gave a big sigh. “Fine, okay.” He turned his phone and showed Dean the picture he’d found. Dean wasn’t paying much attention to the road anyway.

“Who’s that? That guy matches the description they gave us.”

He did. The picture was old and in sepia, from 1875, but it was clearly a depiction of the “ghost”. Sam added quotes in his head.

“The first owner of the house,” said Sam. “In fact, he built the house for his daughter, Marjorie. She died there shortly after, maybe she was killed, I dunno, it doesn’t say anything specific.”

“And then he killed himself in the house, too.” Dean stated, rather than asked. “And then he killed himself in the house, yeah.” Sam confirmed, wondering how Dean could have possibly known that.

Dean lowered his head to hide a smile, Sam saw it anyway. “Sounds good. What’s this guy’s name?”

Sam checked his phone. “Melchezedick Mcdonaugh. He’s the town’s founder.”

“Wow, his parents must have hated him… Where is he buried then? Some kind of fancy special memorial grave?”

Sam sighed and checked again. “Not really. It’s a normal grave at the town’s cemetery.”

–

“I’ve been thinking,” started Dean. “Really? What a surprise.” Sam was carrying a shovel over his shoulder. It was dark and Dean had a trunk full of _weapons_. His heart was beating a little faster than usual and he had to let his frustration out on someone. Or–maybe the answer just felt right. “Shut up, bitch,” said Dean but continued like he hadn’t been interrupted. “About Mcdonaugh. If that house was originally meant for his daughter, maybe that’s why he kills only families with kids? Can’t bear seeing them happy or whatever, but still wants the other people out, too?”

“Does he kill only families with children?” Sam glared at him for making him engage with questions like those.

“Yes, I checked before.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing.”

“Yep, and look, I’ve also found the grave.”

Sam stopped in his tracks and watched Dean shine the flashlight onto the grave. The gravestone was cracked but the name was still recognizable. His daughter's grave was next to it. “Maybe it’s a different Melchezedick Mcdonaugh.”

“Two Melchezedick Mcdonaughs who were town founders?”

“I was hoping you would ignore that.”

“I didn’t, now start digging.”

They took turn, one of them shovelled while the other shone the light down on the grave and stood ready with a shotgun, in case the ghost of Mcdonaugh appeared. Sam was apprehensive at first, but the gun was filled with salt (how that was supposed to stop a ghost, he didn’t know), so at least they wouldn’t get in as much trouble if someone found them. Well, grave desecration aside.

“Dean! Light!” Sam shouted. He was nearly done, only the last corners had to be cleaned before they could lift the lid. He could already smell the stench of the body.

A shot was fired.

“Dean!”

Dean came back into his line of vision. “I’m fine, keep digging.”

“What happened?” Sam asked. He flinched as Dean fired another shot over his head. “What the heck!”

“Quick, open it.” Dean jumped down to him and took the shovel ramming it on the wood. The smell him Sam like a force and he clasped a hand in front of his mouth and nose, trying not to gag. Dean kept going until they had a big opening formed.

Sam was already climbing out as Dean did the same. He stumbled the few feet to the side, his stomach constricted and Sam heaved into the bushes. Once, twice, then he spit into his half digested dinner, already feeling better.

“Woah, you never did that before,” commented Dean. Sam made a face and wiped his mouth. He looked back at Dean, a fire was roaring high behind him.

“What?” he said and squinted against the brightness. Dean was rubbing his upper arm. “You’re hurt?”

“Nah it’s nothing, just a bruise,” Dean said and picked up the shovel and lighter fluid. “Pick up the flashlight and the salt?”

“When did that happened?” asked Sam as he did so.

“That fucker threw me into a grave…” muttered Dean, anger coloring his voice.

“Right…” Sam eyed him sceptically.

“Let’s go before someone finds us.”

–

He never thought too hard about it. Why it didn’t matter to him what Dean did and what Dean made _him_ do. Why he went along with it.

He played with a threat from the bed covers and thought about earlier, about the last few days. There had been an inevitability from the very beginning. It didn’t matter if Dean was doing shady business, it didn’t matter if Dean was hiding things. What mattered was Sam was glad Dean had found him, and he would dig up all the graves if that meant he could stay with Dean. If that meant he was free from his old life.

Dean came out of the bathroom already dressed in boxers, he shuffled through his duffle bag at the head of his bed which gave Sam a perfect view of his arm. A swell of protectiveness rose in his chest.

“Let me look at that,” he said, getting up from the bed.

“Look at what?” asked Dean and turned around. Sam touched his arm lightly and examined the bruise. It really wasn’t that bad, maybe a bit big, but still merely a bruise. “Oh. I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam and let go of him. Dean fished out a t-shirt and faced him again. Sam was cornering him between the two beds.

Sam swept his eyes across Dean’s chest, across the tattoo of the pentagram in the flaming sun–his heart sped up–and across the many, many scars. Something didn’t feel right.

He looked up and found Dean watching him intently, eyes full with a craving for–for… something. Sam’s throat went dry. “Whe–where did you get all those scars?” he stuttered out to fill the silence.

Dean swallowed before he spoke. “Here and there…”

Sam bit his lips and then studied his own torso. He had a few scars himself, from many little accidents as a child (he had been a clumsy kid) and stupidness in the kitchen. Once he even got attacked by a wild dog (didn't scare him enough to hate dogs, he still loved them).

But Dean’s scars weren't like his, Sam craved to reach out and feel the difference. There was one near his shoulder, a bullet wound scar, like it had missed his heart just so. Sam knew it came from a bullet, he could clearly tell that. But there was something scraping at his mind, and the next moment he was reminded of a similar scar he had.

It was at his shoulder too, probably a bit higher, less deadly. The scar wasn't from a bullet, of course it wasn't, Sam had never been shot.

He tried to reach back but he couldn't for the hell of him remember where it came from.

“Where did you get your scars?” whispered Dean.

Sam stared at Dean’s scars. He wanted to say bike accidents and knife-drops and wild dogs, but nothing came out. He couldn't remember where he got them, what had happened. He stared into Dean’s eyes and his mind was blank.

Dean didn't press it.

Dean gave him a pat on his back as he scurried past Sam. The air between them felt charged, his hand rested on Sam a tad longer than necessary before he was gone again, back in the bathroom.

Sam took the time he was in there for getting his breathing under control, before it was his turn for a shower.

It wasn’t the first shower of his life, obviously. And he had seen himself naked before.

Like always, before stepping into the water stream, Sam undressed himself. He took off his shoes, then the flannel overshirt, the shirt underneath–but before he could unfasten his belt, his eyes streaked over his chest.

In the reflection of the mirror, it was reversed, but that didn’t matter, because on his chest was a tattoo of a pentagram in a flaming sun. There was no shock ripping through him, but his hands froze on his belt. His head snapped up to look at it in the mirror. It was definitely the same tattoo that he had seen on Dean.

Only now did his heart speed up again. He had never even stepped foot into a tattoo parlor _in his life_ and he most certainly did not have a tattoo this morning.


	3. Chapter 3

He stormed out of the bathroom half undressed as he was and approached Dean who was sitting on the bed, cleaning his gun. He towered over him and waited for him to raise his head.

Dean’s eyes slowly wandered up his chest, until they came to rest on Sam’s fuming face. At least he hoped he looked fuming, because Dean’s non-reaction about the tattoo made an uneasy feeling boil up in Sam’s stomach.

“Sam?” Dean sounded worried.

Sam blinked and tried to get his act together. He cleared his throat and tapped on his tattoo. Suddenly a thought struck him–he hadn’t tried to wash it off. It was probably just paint, a prank. His shoulders relaxed.

“Do you want to explain this?” He asked. And yet, his voice came out shivering.

Dean’s face immediately burst into a bunch of emotions, uncertainty for one, but also wariness and maybe a bit of hope. His eyes were very telling.

“Dean!” Sam shouted when he didn’t answer. “What is this?” Please let him say it was a prank.

“It’s a tattoo, idiot,” Dean said and turned the gun in his hand. He clenched his jaw.

Sam huffed and went back to the bathroom. With a washcloth he rubbed over the tattoo, then scraped at it with his finger nails, but even as he did so, he knew it wouldn’t come off. 

He sat down on the toilet lid and took a breath, everything in him doing summersaults. Panic stirred inside of him, something was off but he couldn’t put the finger on what. The tattoo was real. He had noticed it today.

He tried to remember, but he _didn’t_ have it before. On the other hand, he couldn’t recall a single instant of actively looking at that place on his body. Everything became blurry in his mind, like he got lost on the way and took a turn he wasn’t supposed to take. And now he was trying so hard to remember, but couldn’t.

He swallowed and closed his eyes. This was crazy, one didn’t get a tattoo and then simply forgot about it. Besides, Dean had the same, and that might just be the creepiest thing about this.

He couldn’t explain any of this, trying made him feel dazed.

“Dean!”

No answer.

“ _Dean!_ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“Come here.”

There was an overly dramatically loud sigh before Dean appeared in the doorway.

“You’re gonna explain to me what the fuck is going on.”

“Nothing is going on, I don’t know what you mean,” Dean said and made a move to go. Sam jumped up and yanking him back into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and pressing Dean against it, holding him with one hand on his shoulder.

“Dean,” he bit out, his teeth pressing together.

Dean swallowed and there was a second of vulnerability on his face, so brief Sam nearly didn’t notice. “Sammy.”

Dean had to know something about this. He had to.

Sam let out a breath and closed his eyes. “Dean, please, what’s up with the tattoo? How come it’s on my chest and why do you have the same?” His voice shook.

Dean was silent and when Sam opened his eyes again he was staring hard at him. “Sam, look…”

He stopped and squirmed in his grip. Then he gave a weak shrug. “Maybe you just don’t remember you got it.” It was a feeble attempt at placating him.

Sam felt like crying but he stared into Dean’s eyes and no, he wasn’t lying. Somehow, that made it worse. Sam let go of his shoulder. “Dean, I’m afraid–”

“Woah, hey now,” Dean grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back in, his arms enveloping him. Sam sank into him and hid his face in the crook of his neck.

You’d think Dean had been starved for it, the way he clinged onto Sam, but Sam clinged right back. Sam let himself be held, Dean wasn’t wearing a shirt and they were skin to skin. Surprisingly, all that was enough to make Sam feel safer.

“No need to be afraid. Everything will be fine in the end, I promise,” Dean whispered in his ear.

“Threw away my life for this,” Sam muttered. “And now I feel like a child that doesn’t understand the world around it.”

“You’ll be fine, Sammy. I promise.” Dean lightly swayed them, one hand rubbing up and down Sam’s naked back. “A few more days. Or a week... And you’ll be good.“

Sam thought that was damn optimistic, but he still felt that trust and he craved nothing more than for Dean to be right.

He lifted his head to look at him. Really look at him, their faces only inches apart. “You’re fucking weird…” he whispered.

“Gee, thanks, bitch.”

“Jerk,” he said and smiled because Dean’s face lit up. They stared at each other, Sam feeling his pulse in his neck. This was right.

Dean cleared his throat and pushed him away, patting his back, before he opened the door to leave. “Enough chick flick, take a shower, you stink.”

“Yeah, well, _someone_ made me shovel a huge pile of dirt today.”

Dean grinned at him and left.

–

Sam’s consciousness returned to him before his body fully woke up. He realized it was a dream the instant he was back in his apartment. Dean stormed in, shotgun in hand and fired. Sam turned around but nobody was there. When he focused on Dean again he was lying on the ground in agony, blood everywhere, his shirt ripped and the skin in shreds.

Sam awoke with a jolt. He wasn’t sure if the scream echoing in his ears was his or Dean’s. 

The blood pulsed in his neck and chest, and he had trouble getting air as he slowly sat up. Dean wasn’t in the other bed, and for a moment he thought he had lost him. For a moment he thought Dean was in hell until reality caught up with him.

He rubbed at his eyes and groaned. Dean’s delusions were sneaking into his dreams. There was a residue of another dream on his mind, with monsters and ghosts and demons. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Hey, you’re up.” Dean came in from the bathroom. He paused. “You okay?”

“Fine,” said Sam and glared at him.

“O-kay.” Dean picked up a shirt from the ground and threw it at Sam. It didn’t hit him. “We need to check the house again.”

“Why? I thought what we did yesterday, uh, made it go away or whatever.” He glanced at the shirt. It was his, so he put it on. He was very aware of the way Dean was watching him change.

“Yep, but better safe than sorry. We only need to check for EMF,” Dean said and turned away, but not without Sam noticing the color forming on his cheeks.

–

In the house Sam trotted after Dean, cranky that they hadn't had breakfast yet (not even coffee), while Dean took out the EMF meter and waved it around while they went from room to room. 

“Huh,” said Dean. “He’s still there.”

“Is he?” asked Sam sarcastically. “Because I can’t see him.”

But just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there, was it? Sam was reminded of the tattoo and promised himself to shut his mouth from now on. At least until breakfast.

“Whatever,” said Dean and put the EMF meter back into his pocket. “Something’s keeping him here, damn it.”

They walked to the kitchen and Dean continued without being prompted. “Something personal. It won’t be a shelve or anything, hm… We might need to–”

“Oh!” A female voice made then both start and they turned to face the doorway. The realtor was standing there. Sam still didn’t know her name. “I didn’t expect you two to be back. I’m terribly sorry to tell you, but the house has been sold.”

“Wait, really?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Shit.”

“Yes, I’m sorry to inform you. And perhaps next time you could call instead of entering the property outside of visiting hours…”

“Ah,” said Sam and took the hint. He reached for Dean’s elbow and pulled him toward the exit. “Our apologies. Come on, Dean.”

Dean kept frowning but followed.

“This sucks,” said Dean when they were back in the Impala.

Sam hummed in response. “Can we get breakfast now?”

“I already had breakfast,” Dean said and started the car. “But sure.”

“When did you get up?” Sam asked in irritation.

“I dunno, few hours ago. Didn’t sleep that much.” He shrugged.

Sam wasn’t happy to hear that but he didn’t press it, Dean was already moving on. “Isn’t she supposed to call us if the house gets sold, or something?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t know how houses get sold, I never had to buy one, but we were interested in it. Or at least that’s what she thought.”

“Dean, who cares? It’s not like we actually wanted to buy it.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but what if? I dunno man, this seems awfully homophobic to me.”

“You think?”

Dean threw his hands up and for a second Sam was worried they were gonna crash. His hands were back on the steering wheel in an instant, but what made him relax was the reminder that Dean wouldn’t dare to risk crashing his Baby.

They stopped in a parking lot by some kind of diner and Dean turned toward Sam and sighed. “I guess you’re right. Who cares? Doesn’t matter in the end, we’ll just come back at night.”

“Sure...”

“But good thing we’re not actually gay, right, Sam?”

Sam’s made a questioning face, staring at Dean. That… wasn’t what he had expected him say. “Right…” he said slowly. “Totally not gay?” 

He hadn’t actively thought about it before, but it couldn’t just be in his mind. There was _something_ between them. They went from strangers to more way too fast, and there was no way only Sam had noticed. Dean had evolved from a desire to an addiction in no time, the desire still burning, every time he laid eyes on him. 

He hadn’t seen the full picture until now.

Dean looked away first, clearing his throat in an awkward cough. He didn’t meet Sam’s eyes again until they were seated in the diner. Sam smiled at him when he finally did and Dean blushed. Sam counted that as a victory.

–

“This is fucking with my sleep schedule,” said Sam. He was up in the late hours of the day, once again visiting the haunted house. Though the only thing being haunted here were apparently Sam’s dreams and thoughts, as he still hadn’t seen proof of that ghost and yet he had been sneaking around in here for a good half hour now. Breaking and entering. Add that to his criminal record…

“You wanna go back to your _normal people_ job? I bet that was so much better, waking up at 7 every day and wearing that ugly yellow polo shirt to work where you explain to idiots what to press to get their computers to turn off,” Dean said, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

“Oh shut up,” Sam rammed his flashlight into Dean’s shoulder as he went past him. “How about you tell me how we know we found that thing we’re looking for, ‘cause all _I’ve_ been doing is trotting behind you like an idiot puppy.”

“Well, he’s gonna get angry when we touch it, let’s put it that way.”

“No way other people didn’t do that before us…” Sam muttered under his breath. They’ve searched through nearly every room by now, only the bathroom on the upper floor was left and Sam doubted there would be anything left old enough to belong to the ghost.

“Yeah…” Dean agreed, flicking his flashlight off and on repeatedly until Sam glanced at what Dean was shining the light on. There was an attic door on the ceiling. “Time to check out the attic and the celler. Where do you wanna look? We can split up.”

Sam glared at him. “No, we’re not splitting up. No way I’m creeping around here on my own.”

“Aw, you afraid, Sammy?” Dean mocked, smirking.

“No, I’m not, jerk. But if the police turns up I don’t want you to bail and leave me to explain all this.”

Dean’s expression sobered up immediately. “Hey, no. I wouldn’t do that to you. And nobody has a clue we’re here.”

Sam grunted and didn’t say anything. Dean gave him a friendly a pat. “But sure, no splitting up. You’re probably not ready to face McDick on your own anyway…”

“Mcdonaugh,” Sam provided. “And I still don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Okay. But there was a ‘dick’ somewhere in his name.”

“Melchezedick.”

“Cool. You don’t believe in ghosts, and I don’t believe that poor fucker was actually named that. Get your shotgun ready, we’re checking the attic first.”

For a second Sam wished the gun was filled with real bullets, in case they needed to protect themselves. If that intruder was dangerous he’d rather have–he made a face at his own thoughts. No. He didn’t want to _shoot_ someone, Jesus Christ. Besides, rock salt would still _hurt_.

They climbed up the ladder to a dusty attic. Very dusty attic, Sam’s nose felt stuffy as soon as he was fully up there. It was like nobody ever came here, which seemed weird considering how often this house changed owners.

“Don’t they ever clean in here?” Dean groaned and scrunched up his face as he illuminated the place. “That’s a lot of fucking boxes.”

“Yeah.” And Sam had no desire whatsoever to look through all this crap. There were not only boxes but also an assortment of cheap looking tables and chairs and the one or other older chest. He turned on his own flashlight and crouched down by the nearest cardboard box, putting his shotgun on the ground next to it.

He opened it, inside where moldy smelling books. He closed the box and turned back to Dean.

Dean was peeking into another box. “Kitchen tools,” he said. “Let’s check out the older stuff.” He nodded toward the back of the room.

“Fine.” Sam stood and made his way past the huge dresser in the middle. He sighed as he saw the spider webs decorating the corners. Sadly, it wasn’t old Halloween decoration but the real deal.

“C’mon, don’t be such a wuss,” said Dean and bumped into him lightly.

“I’m not, shut up,” said Sam. “It’s just… so unnecessary.” He grabbed a little crate from a shelf by the wall and peeked at Dean, who was already poking around in some other boxes, ignoring him.

Inside Sam’s were what he presumed had been photographs once. He put it back on the shelf and reached for the next when a cold shiver crawled down his spine. As he placed the little chest back from where he took it (it was locked), something rammed into him with full force, making him crash face first into the shelf.

“Sam!”

Sam was trying to catch his breath, ready to yell at Dean but then Dean fired a shot and the pressure against his back was gone. The next moment Dean was by his side, dragging him out from inbetween the shelf and the dresser which a minute ago hadn’t been this close.

“What the fuck,” Sam croaked out. He stumbled against Dean before pushing himself off of his chest and raised his head. And there he was indeed, standing four feet behind Dean, staring at them. Sam felt his body freeze in surprise as he stared right back.

Dean caught on quickly, flipping around and shooting him in the chest. Melchezedick Mcdonaugh disappeared, just like that.

“What did you touch?” asked Dean. Sam squinted against the light that was suddenly right in his face. “Sam, what did you touch? And where is your shotgun?”

Sam put a hand against Dean’s and guided the flashlight to the side so it wouldn’t blind him anymore. He licked his lips. “I was–It was the chest, a little chest, with a lock.” He pointed to the side and noticed he didn’t have his own flashlight anymore.

His brain resumed work. “I dropped it. My, my gun!” His gaze ran frantically over the other side of the attic, tracking down the place where he put it.

“Go get it,” said Dean. “Quick. I’ll look for the chest.”

Sam darted across the room, afraid Mcdonaugh would reappear before he could grab his gun. As he got to it and reached forward, the gun slipped out of his grip and flew against the opposite wall as if he had thrown it.

He frantically checked for the ghost. Mcdonaugh was with Dean, squeezing his neck. Not even thinking, Sam vaulted over to the box with kitchen supplies Dean had checked earlier and hoped– _yes_ , he pulled out a cast-iron pan. He leaped to Dean and swung the pan through the ghost’s head, barely missing Dean’s. Mcdonaugh disappeared at once.

Dean barely took the time to regain his breath, steering him toward the attic door, the wooden chest in hand.

They climbed down the ladder and Sam followed Dean into one of the rooms that had a fireplace, already knowing what was going to happen from here on. It was quiet for now, but Sam took over Dean’s shotgun while Dean tried to pry the chest open with a knife. “Should’ve brought an axe,” Dean muttered.

“Just throw the whole thing in, it’s not going to open,” Sam said, shifting in his stance, ready to shoot should the ghost come out. Halfway through his words Dean was on his knees, getting a fire started in the fireplace, trusting Sam to watch his back.

Sam felt like his senses were heightened, staring into the darkness of the room and listening for every little sound, as the absence of Mcdonaugh grew longer and longer. He wet his lips, afraid they had snatched the wrong object. He glanced at Dean, who had ignited a fire and was about to burn the little chest.

The wild rhythm in his chest felt a little easier as soon as the flames caught onto it. They had no trouble defending against the actual fucking ghost that unsurprisingly appeared again until whatever was inside the box was burning too.

–

“Shit, that was so crazy,” Sam got out in midst of a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe–I mean, I _do_ believe.” He opened the Impala’s door and fell onto his seat.

Dean threw him a lazy smile. “Will you believe me now if I tell you other crazy things?”

“I think I would believe about anything right now,” Sam grinned. “So what? We’re fighting against ghouls next? A werewolf maybe? Skinwalker? Oh! How about a unicorn?” “You know unicorns aren’t real,” Dean scoffed, but his face was full of fondness. So much, Sam felt all of it mirrored in his heart, hurting his rib cage, filling up his entire body with love.

He inhaled sharply and turned away, grinning stupidly. 

They didn’t talk for the short ride back to the motel, but Sam was still giddy and high on adrenaline when they entered their room.

“Give me a hug,” he said and wrapped himself around Dean, squeezing him with his whole body. Dean went stiff in his constricting arms, before he momentarily relaxed just to start squirming against him. Sam stayed, lingered for a moment, until he reluctantly let go and held him at arm’s length.

Dean gawked at him with huge eyes, his tongue twitching on his lower lip. Something hot swooped in Sam’s gut, and like he knew what it did to Sam Dean hid his tongue in his mouth again. Biting on his lip instead and turning red.

Sam leant forward and brought his mouth close to Dean’s neck, breathing him in until he couldn’t anymore and felt himself getting dizzy, his body forcing him to release the air again. He let it wash over Dean’s shuddering body and finally placed his lips on his neck. He found his artery and pressed against it.

Dean’s heartbeat was erratic and he let out a moan when Sam sucked lightly on his skin. Sam made a sound of appreciation as well, moving his body snug against Dean’s.

He rubbed his hardening dick against Dean’s crotch–sharp pleasure shot up his spine when he felt Dean’s hard length nudging through his pants. Sam brushed his lips up his neck and licked along the jawline, arrived at Dean’s chin. He went in for a kiss when Dean seized up.

“Sam,” he said and moved his head to the side. Sam kissed his cheek and tried to capture his mouth but Dean made it so difficult, why did he make it so difficult? He couldn’t deny it, Sam could feel him. Down there, right next to his own aching dick.

“We’re brothers, Sammy,” Dean bit out.

“Dean,” he groaned into his ear, pressing his cheek against Dean’s and closing his eyes. “I feel close to you, too. Even after this short time. But these aren’t brotherly feelings.” He emphasized his words by thrusting his hips harder against Dean’s.

Dean brought his arms up and pushed against Sam’s chest. Sam froze, his only movement was his heavy breathing. He opened his eyes. “What…?”

“Sam, get off,” said Dean and Sam took a perplexed step back. “That’s not what I– _Shit_.”

God, Dean looked ready to eat, his chest was rising and falling to the rhythm of Sam’s. His dick was visibly hard in his jeans, but his face showed frustration and discomfort, a total contrast to the lust in his eyes. And fuck, what he would give to know _why_ , so they could fix it and get on with what they both wanted.

Sam licked his lips and Dean slipped away to the side, hurrying into the bathroom and leaving behind only empty air in front of Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

He had been so sure Dean would return his advances, and given the state of his dick and the amount of time he had spent in the bathroom last night Sam was wondering why he had stopped him.

Sam frowned at him from behind his coffee mug, watching Dean out of the window of the café. Dean was talking into his phone, glancing over to Sam every now and again. Sam had a feeling they were talking about him.

He had been avoiding him most of the morning, acting like yesterday didn’t happen.

Dean came back shortly after, barely looking at him when he sat back down and began eating his bagel.

“Who were you talking to?” asked Sam. When he had woken up today Dean had been on the phone, too.

“Bobby.” Dean finally actually looked him in the eye as he said that. _Thank God._

“And who’s that?” prodded Sam, trying to keep him talking. Well, he also wanted to know who that Bobby guy was, because Dean hadn’t really mentioned any friends up until now.

Dean’s jaw worked and he gave him a tight smile. “He’s… You’ll meet him soon enough. We’re gonna visit him.”

“Okay, cool, where does he live?” Sam smiled back, encouragingly hopefully. Dean shifted around on the bench seat.

“Uh, South Dakota, but he’s helping someone on a hunt in Oregon right now. So we need to kill a few days.” He made a face.

Another hunter then. Made sense, Sam didn’t think you could keep normal friends with a life like this.

There was a moment of awkward silence and Sam fought for something to say. “So,” he said and stretched the vowel. “Why didn’t you want to, last night?”

Dean jumped and looked like he had slapped him. “Are you done here?” he asked and drained his own coffee. He pulled out his wallet and threw a few dollar bills on the table.

Sam wasn’t done, but he wasn’t going to give up this easily and continued, “Did you jerk off in the bathroom? I could’ve done that for you.” 

There definitely was some kind of gratification from seeing Dean turn this red so suddenly.

“I didn’t–I mean, you,” Dean spluttered around his words. He took a breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you serious right now?” Sam exclaimed and put his bitchface on. “Is it that I’m a guy? I mean, you _are_ interested, aren’t you?”

“Sam, no. What the fuck, I was just, we didn’t even. It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, so you do remember now?”

“Shut up,” said Dean and got up to get out of the café. Sam joined him in the car, he expected more silence, but Dean said, “You–You don’t actually want this. And I don’t either, you just think I do, or something.”

“Or something, Dean. I know what I want, but you don’t seem to know what _you_ want.” Sam was getting tired of this.

“You’ll understand eventually.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, Dean. I know how attraction works.” He crossed his arms and glared out of the windshield.

“You kind of are though,” Dean said and there was actually amusement in his tone.

“I hate you.”

–

Dreams about monsters, about demons and angels and witches. The problem was that the certainty of all those creatures being real didn’t make those dreams more scary, in contrary actually. It elated him. They appeared more vivid all of a sudden. (And they had felt pretty palpable in the first place.)

Sam sucked up those dreams like a vampire feeding on blood. Because they meant Dean was there. Because they showed Dean and himself, in a library, on a hunt, sleeping in countless motels, watching stars, and driving, driving along wide stretches of road, nothing ahead of them but more road.

He had the occasional bad one, fights and tears and throwing each other against walls. But his mind slipped him the happy fantasies most of the time. Those with Dean were his favorites.

Like Dean being all bravado despite limping, with his clothes soaked in blood. Dean cleaning guns with swift fingers. Dean in the Impala, sneaking more glances at him than any driver of a vehicle should, with that soft smile and eye contact growing longer and longer. He was glowing in his dreams, the adoration clear as ice to Sam.

He blinked his eyes open but the the real Dean next to him was cautious of him and had a serious expression on his face.

Sam was slouching against the passenger door so he sat up straighter, drawing Dean’s attention to him, if only for a moment. 

“Sleeping beauty decided to join us? How nice, what did you dream of? Unicorns?” he asked him and laughed, turning the music that had been on low back up, not expecting an answer. They were driving through a little town, on their way north.

Sam’s stomach fluttered as he watched the play of sun and shadows dance across Dean’s freckles.

“You, actually,” he said simply. 

Dean faced him, maybe in surprise at Sam’s boldness, maybe because there was a shred of truth in Sam’s dreams. Sam held his gaze.

“Watch the road, Dean,” he said at ease, giving him a slow smile.

–

Sam didn’t want to push. But… he kind of wanted to push.

It was late at night and they haven’t done much besides eating and watching TV. Sam was sitting next to Dean on his bed, not really paying any mind to the movie.

Halfway through Dean zapping through the channels after they had finished the last bit of _Million Dollar Baby_ , Sam leaned into Dean and put his head on his shoulder. Dean inhaled sharply.

They had ended up on the same channel, where some _really_ old Clint Eastwood movie was starting. The inhale… had not been because of Sam.

“What are we watching?” asked Sam, irritated.

“ _Every Which Way But Loose_ ,” Dean answered. “Now shush.”

Sam frowned. “The one with the monkey?”

“Yes, now shut your trap. I love this movie.”

“I know…” Sam muttered and sighed.

“What?” Dean started so suddenly he jolted Sam’s head from his shoulder.

Sam blinked at him. “I know, I’m noticing?” Sam said, or rather asked. He raised an eyebrow. What was going on?

Dean visibly forced himself to relax. “Oh. Right.” He was still tense, and Sam was cautious about leaning back into him.

A guy at the bar called Eastwood a squirrel and they fought for the peanuts. Sam had seen this movie already, though it had been a while, so he watched Dean instead.

When he was sure Dean was completely engrossed in the events on the screen again, he brought his face down to Dean’s neck and nuzzled the place behind his ear, closing his eyes. Dean froze.

“What are you doing?” he whispered. Sam kept his head in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Nothing,” he breathed hot air over the skin under his lips and smiled as Dean shivered. He pressed closer, his side against Dean’s, sneaking the arm that was between them behind Dean. Snug against him, squashed between his lower back and the pillow.

He snuck his fingers under his shirt and Dean’s back surged forward.

“Relax…” said Sam and trailed his tongue down his neck.

“Relax?” Dean’s voice was hoarse, but still quiet. “You’ve got your fingers under my shirt and your tongue on me.”

Sam hummed and open his eyes slowly. Dean’s hands were gripping the sheets, like he was holding himself back, like he wanted to reach out and touch but couldn’t let himself.

“Dean,” Sam whined. His fingers ran lightly across Dean’s thigh, closing in on his crotch but skimming back down toward the knee. He thought back to the night after they had finished the hunt. “I wanna suck you–please can I suck you?”

Dean’s head fell back. Sam’s lips were still at his throat and he felt his adam’s apple move but no sound came from Dean.

“Please, Dean, I want to,” begged Sam, scraping his teeth across his neck, and there it was, Dean gave a quiet moan, stopping himself halfway through, but now Sam finally dared to bring his hand up and palm Dean through his jeans.

A thrill went through Sam, realizing he was already half hard. “Dean, can I?” he whispered into his ear.

Dean turned his head to face him, his green eyes glossed over and lips parted. Sam kept his expression open, tried to show how much he wanted–how much he _craved_ it. Dean’s gaze stayed on Sam for only a split second, before he closed his eyes and stuttered out, “Oh Jesus.” Sam’s heart thumped a little faster against his ribcage.

He squeezed his hand and could practically _feel_ Dean’s dick grow harder under his touch. He massaged it while his mouth was busy exploring Dean’s jawline. He was turning away, not letting Sam catch his lips, no matter what Sam tried.

“This isn’t–we shouldn’t,” Dean panted and thrust his hips up into Sam’s hand, maybe trying to squirm away and failing. “Can’t happen.”

“You don’t want to?” asked Sam and opened the jeans button with his free hand, the finger’s of his entrapped arm dancing along Dean’s hip bone. 

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Sam grinned, eager to prove him wrong, and with one swift motion he was straddling Dean’s legs, half sitting and half lying over him, due to the arm that was still behind Dean’s back. He was quick to bring his head down, nuzzling the bulge and breathing him in, before slowly pulling down the fly. He nosed up the shirt and started sucking on his tummy.

Dean hand flew into his hair, pulling, but not strong enough to drag Sam away. Sam let up anyway and tilted his head back. “Just let me, yeah? I’ll make you feel so good. Please, I wanna suck your cock _so bad_.”

Dean made a strangled noise. He let go of Sam’s hair, his eyes still trained on him. Sam couldn’t tell if that look on his face was fear or desire.

“You ever had a guy give you head?” asked Sam curiously. He dragged down Dean’s boxer at the front, enough to free his dick.

“No,” Dean choked out.

“You want me to?” Sam licked his lips and studied the dick in front of him. It gave a twitch at his words, but when he glanced back at Dean he had his face turned up, hiding his expression from Sam.

A drop of precome appeared at the tip of Dean’s dick–Sam had barely even touched him yet–and he was unable to think about anything else but to get it in his mouth, even ignoring his own dick hurting in his constricting pants.

He lapped up the bit of salty precome before closing his lips around the head without any more preamble. Dean let out a low groan, his legs practically vibrating but he didn’t buck into Sam’s mouth, held himself as still as possible.

Sam appreciated the sentiment, but his other arm was still under Dean’s back and he used it to press Dean up against him instead of holding him down. Bobbing his head down simultaneously, taking in as much as he could, feeling his dick heavy on his tongue and at the back of his throat, then pulling back up, keeping only the tip inside and tonguing at the cluster of nerves below the head. Dean whimpered.

He flicked his tongue and jacked him off, alternating the pressure of his hand. He listened to the litany of “ _Sam Sam Sam_ ” and moaned around the cock, taking him back down, wishing to everything that was holy for Dean to just _touch_ him. Every nerve ending in his body stirred and tingled in anticipation, but Dean didn’t even grab his hair again.

Sam pulled off to catch his breath. He fondled Dean’s balls through the fabric of the boxers, while he placed wet, sloppy kisses all over the bobbing dick and wormed his other arm free from under Dean to hold it in place, stroking softly, teasing.

Dean was breathing heavily. He was biting his tongue and still not looking at Sam.

Sam sat up and pried both of Dean’s hands from the sheets and placed them on his head. Dean’s eyes shot open. “C’mon, ‘m not gonna break,” Sam said in a mumble and went down on him again.

Dean didn’t attempt to take control, he gripped onto Sam’s hair so tightly it was on the edge of painful. Sam didn't mind though, he licked up the smooth shaft and sucked on the head, one arm keeping him from falling onto his face while the other rubbed Dean’s balls.

Sam went on to jerk Dean off with his hand, speeding up until Dean forgot to breathe. He pressed his tongue hard against the area under the glans, rubbing up and down in rhythm with his strokes. Keeping it up relentlessly.

He was slightly startled by the sudden wave of saltiness in his mouth. Dean was completely tense underneath him and he slowed down his strokes, lifting his head to catch the sight of Dean while he rode out his orgasm. He swallowed what was already on his tongue and let the rest shoot freely over them, covering his hand in warmth.

Dean was blissed out, his mouth open in a silent cry. Sam surged up to kiss him, and he opened up even more, letting him lick inside, and Sam did, his tongue dragging hungrily against Dean’s. The noise he made was barely human, pouring sheer passion into him. He kissed him with all that had been gathering in his chest for days, funneling everything he had into it.

Nails were digging into Sam’s scalp, sending shivers down his spine. Dean clinged to him, making those distressed little noises that Sam felt right in his groin.

Sam broke the kiss and started grinding his hips into Dean, rubbing his dick against Dean’s leg. Then, as if he was struck by lightning Dean shoved him off and jumped up. He stood by bed, facing away from Sam and tucked himself back into his pants.

Sam stared befuddled at Dean. It’s not that he had expected a reciprocal blowjob (really, he hadn’t), he wouldn’t even have asked for a handjob. But pushing him off like that?

He buried his face in the cushion and groaned. His hips were desperately bucking down onto the mattress and Sam scrunched up his face, trying to regain control. He didn’t want to see what Dean was doing.

Eventually, minutes later, Sam heard the front door close. Dean had left.

Sam stayed like that, throat tight and a hard feeling in his stomach, until his erection wilted on its own.

–

Sam predicted the following day to be awkward. And it was. Dean didn’t mention _it_ at all, of course, but that was expected, too.

At least Dean had come back last night.

He kept his phone nearby, waiting for a call from Bobby, Sam presumed. They were a few hours from South Dakota, in a new motel, sleazier than the last but Sam found himself not minding. 

His thoughts were preoccupied with finding a way to apologize. To somehow get things back to how they were before Sam thought it would be a good idea to make a move on Dean. 

Turned out, Dean could be pretty damn good at avoiding conversation. The ear blasting music in the car was a _don’t talk to me_ if Sam had ever seen one. He would flinch if Sam so much as brushed against him, and as soon as they had stopped at a new motel Dean had taken all his knives and gave all of them a cleaning and sharpening. Yeah, Sam definitely didn’t want to approach him _then_.

It was such a contrast from before anything had happened. Sam felt bad.

On a different note, the tattoo was still there. It didn’t bother Sam anymore, it was comforting somehow that Dean had the same, and Sam liked to imagine magic was involved. That was also the reason he didn’t simply pack his bags and went back home after he fucked things up with Dean (well, one of the reasons).

The idea of magic being the reason for the tattoo didn’t feel quite right, it didn’t really fit as perfectly as he wanted it to, but it kept his mind from going into overdrive trying to find an explanation. Because now that a world with all sorts of creatures had opened before him, he realized there could be way more to it than he had previously thought.

But now wasn’t the time to prioritize that before Dean. With or without tattoo, Sam didn’t dare changing in the main room, not even to test the waters. So he dutifully kept his nakedness after his shower in the bathroom and came out fully dressed in his sleep clothes.

He pretended to sleep until Dean turned off all the lights and went to bed. As soon as he laid down Sam sat up.

Dean was with his back to Sam, but he knew right away what was happening. “God damn it, Sam. Go to back to pretending you’re asleep.”

“Right after you let me apologize to you.” Sam pulled his legs to his chest and curled his arms around his knees, leaning back against the headboard. He was glad for the darkness.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” said Dean with a flat voice. “Just… Forget about it.”

Sam gave a dry laugh, his chest felt dull. “No, you… You’re clearly uncomfortable with what I did.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry I pushed this so much… I’ll–I’ll stop.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Look,” he said, quietly. “I appreciate this.” He paused. Having said sorry, Sam wished he could see Dean’s face. He didn’t think you would be able to sleep tonight if Dean didn’t forgive him. “I know you didn’t mean it… It’s okay. We’ll get over it.” He was fighting with himself and Sam felt even worse.

“So, back to normal?” He asked tentatively. “Just like that?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yeah, we’re… we’re good.”

“Good.” Sam nodded hesitantly to himself, searching for a way to end this talk on a higher note. God, this was so weird.

“Sleep, Sammy.”

Sam bit back another response and hoped to everything they would be okay.

–

And in fact, things _did_ kind of return back to normal.

In the morning Dean announced he was going to get breakfast with a fake chipper. Sam nodded groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Dean gave him a friendly pat on the back before he left, so at least that was something.

“Bobby’s on his way back to Sioux Falls,” said Dean later that day, stretching his back from working on the car for the last few hours. “We’ll drive up there tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Sam. He was on his laptop–Dean’s laptop, mostly trying to ignore the weird tension between them, but halfway through browsing the web he had landed on a news article on new animals discovered in the last few years. Then he had read up on recent events, first international and then in the US, and from there it hadn’t been long until he was searching for unexplained deaths and freaky occurrences. 

He had a good feeling about this, about differentiating between normal and possibly unnatural. At times he wasn’t exactly sure what tipped him off, but his gut was very adamant about being right, so he decided to trust his intuition.

Sam yearned to go on another hunt, to learn more about what he couldn’t previously see. It was an _itch_ under his skin and in his brain, urging him to indulge, to yield and let everything back in as if it had been part of him all along.

He glanced at Dean and fondness surged up in him. He would wait. They were bound to happen, and he wouldn’t initiate anything anymore. Eventually Dean would come around whatever was stopping him. He knew that. His brain was a confusing place these days, but if he knew one thing for sure it was that nothing would break them apart. He had thought about it long after Dean had fallen asleep last night.

Maybe their souls had recognized each other from a past life.

“Dean, so get this: There have been three murders in Gunnison, Colorado in the past three months. And guess what? All of them happened on a full moon.” Sam smirked, unashamedly proud of himself. He had just found his first hunt.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been looking for a new hunt?”

“Yup,” said Sam. “You think we can check this out after we’ve been at Bobby’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Dean. “Uhm, depends on how longs things will take.”

“About that… What exactly are _things_?”

Dean pursed his lips and looked uncomfortable. “You know… Catching up and stuff.”

Before Sam could respond Dean got up and left the motel room. Great.

But he didn’t have to worry for too long, Dean came back shortly after, carrying a gun.

“Hey, uh, I’ve been meaning to give you this…” He placed the gun on the table in front of Sam and took a step back, averting his gaze. Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was trying to change the topic or if he had really just remembered this.

The gun was a Taurus with a pretty pearl grip that felt comfortable in his hand like it belonged there. He brushed over the barrel with one finger and smiled, his heart full.

“Thank you,” he said and tried to put all his appreciation in his voice. “I love it.”

“Yeah, I was hoping you would. It’s yours–now.”

“Thank you, really,” Sam said again and stuck the gun in the back of his waistband. This was his.

“Hey, you know what? Let’s go to a bar,” Dean proposed. “We haven’t celebrated your first finished hunt yet. And we’re kinda low on cash. I bet you’re killer at the pool table.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah okay, why not?” A bit of alcohol might just help them relieve the tension between them.

“But a fair warning–I don’t know how to play pool for shit.”

“We’ll see about that.”

–

They came back from the bar late at night. Both drunk and stumbling home instead of taking the Impala–they would get her in the morning.

All in all the evening had been a success. Sam had easily fallen into the pretense of being drunk, playing his skills down (he was in fact pretty much a natural talent when it came to playing pool… and hustling pool) and together they had won a few games in various bars. One time Sam had introduced them as brothers, an attempt to convey to Dean he wasn’t going to remind him of the blowjob or of anything between them that Dean didn’t want be confronted with right now. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Dean’s reaction to being called his brother.

After, they had gone to a bar where no one was pissed at them and at last allowed themselves to drink until all their worries were merely a quiet whisper at the back of their minds. 

Dean fumbled with the door and Sam leaned against him until he finally got it open. They fell into the room and laughed as they reached out for each other to regain their balance. The door fell close with a faint ‘plop’ and then it was quiet.

Sam’s head was buzzing as he noticed the little space between him and Dean. They were still holding onto each other, and with help of the light that was coming in through the windows he could easily make out the way Dean was staring at his lips.

The moment he thought he should move away before Dean thought he would start anything again, Dean was the one to lean forward and bring they lips together.

Dean kissed him tentatively, the touch light and careful, and Sam couldn’t help himself but give back everything he had, hardening the kiss, his mouth moving sure against Dean’s. He felt a gratifying satisfaction when Dean moaned into the kiss.

For a few second everything was perfect. Then Sam’s brain caught up with the situation and he broke the kiss, letting go of Dean. Guilt filling him like a wave.

“Jesus, Sammy…” Dean’s eyes were closed and he licked his lips before taking a half step back, softly shaking his head. “I can’t. Don’t want you to hate me for this.”

Sam wasn’t going to make the next step, but Dean’s hands were still gripping his arms and his own fingers were aching with the need to touch. He popped his forehead on Dean’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Would never, Dean,” he muttered into his shirt. “Want this. Want you. Loved feeling your cock in my mouth.”

“God...” He could hear Dean swallow. Dean was trembling under his touch, and they were both swaying from the alcohol–Sam wanted them to lay down, they didn’t even have to _do_ anything. Staying like this would be enough, sleeping in his arms, like–like little kids afraid of the dark, or like a little brother in the arms of his older brother. Sam tightened his arms.

“Oh god,” Dean said again, rocked against him. “You’re hard–you’re hard for me, fuck.”

Dean’s hips stuttered against his own, erections pressing together through their jeans. Sam rubbed their cheeks against each other and breathed heavily into Dean’s ear, meaning to say something, but then hands landed on his ass, yanking him firmly against Dean, and he lost his thought. “Dean… please.”

Somehow they landed on one of the beds, falling entangled onto the sheets, causing Sam’s head to swim thanks to the sudden movement, and momentarily he wondered if they should really do this drunk. Rationally, he knew Dean wasn’t completely hammered, but the last thing he wanted was for Dean to regret this in the morning. Or… while they were at it.

“We gonna do this or are you gonna bolt halfway through?” he asked, propping himself up to look at Dean. His hands were running up and down his back, one slipped under this shirt, the other reached into Sam’s hair, bringing his face closer to Dean’s.

His voice was husky when he spoke, “Want you so much…”

Sam was flooded with heat. “Then have me,” he practically begged, but Dean was already leaning up for another kiss.

Dean tugged him closer and opened his mouth. Sam didn’t hide his groan as Dean’s tongue urged against his, while their hips collided, and their thighs slotted together firm and perfect. They were touching everywhere, but–

“Clothes,” Dean got out, his mouth still sliding wet against Sam’s.

Sam reluctantly sat up and shed his shirts, Dean jumping up to do the same. Their guns fell carelessly to the ground when their took off their jeans.

Dean stood completely naked in front of him, and Sam stuttered in his movement when he saw the hickey he had left on Dean’s tummy. He gave him a very slow once-over, Dean’s skin was flushed and his dick stood hard and proud, the sight making something flutter inside of Sam.

“You just gonna look?”

Sam grinned and shook his head, skimming out of his boxers. When he was done and back on the bed Dean had retrieved lube and condoms from his bag, threw them onto the pillow and then climbed over Sam to push him to lie down.

Fuck yes, they were finally doing that. They were kissing desperately, and Dean was giving as much as he got, which made Sam’s heart race more than anything else.

Sam turned them around so he was on top. His hips rolled down on instinct and it felt so good, so fucking good to grind against skin, the aching pleasure of pressure and the motion of fucking. It was what his body was gasping for, he needed to get inside Dean _now_.

He wrapped his hand around Dean’s dick without hesitation. Dean was panting right away, throwing his head back and moaning openly as Sam pumped his fist.

Sam made his way down his body with wet kisses and little nips. Dean’s breath hitched as he sucked on the hickey.

“Okay, c’mon, do it,” Dean said and wiggled under him, spreading his legs.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, thinking past the arousal in him. His senses were filled with _Dean_ , but he had to make sure, afraid of fucking things up again, so soon after the last time. 

“ _Yes_ , get in already.” Dean thrust the lube into his hand. They didn’t waste much time after that.

Sam had enough awareness left in him to put on a condom before lubing himself up liberally. “You done this before?”

“Uh, not with a guy…” Dean admitted, pulling his legs up. Sam bit his lip and was momentarily hurt that he hadn’t known that before. Then his mind was all Dean’s again as he placed his tip at Dean’s entrance, pushing in agonizingly slowly, listening to Dean’s shaky breaths.

Dean tilted his head back and groaned. “Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ–”

Sam ran his hand up Dean’s thighs and forced himself to stop moving. Dean let out an uncontrolled whimper. “Don’t _stop_ , fuck.”

Sam leaned forward, bit into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, kept pushing. Dean was so fucking _hot_ and _tight_ , and it was nearly too much to finally have him like this, to have him grasping at his back and moaning into his ear.

When he couldn’t go any deeper and Dean clenched around him, he couldn’t take it anymore, started fucking him and never pulled out far, his thrusts shallow, the position not allowing for more. Dean was all around him, clinging to him, his cock rubbing against his stomach.

He had to get his mouth on Dean’s again. The kiss was uncoordinated, both were gasping for air.

Neither were able to hold it much longer, Sam could feel the vibration of Dean’s moan against his lips as he came. A scream escaped Dean’s throat and Sam kept fucking him through it. He moaned deeply when he joined Dean in the overwhelming pleasure, spilling into the condom while he panted against his neck.

They collapsed. Sam was ready to pass out in after-sex (and drunk) exhaustion, completely wrung out. But he gathered himself up, pulled out of Dean–making a face at the stickiness between them–and threw the condom away carelessly.

He fell back next to Dean, who looked half asleep, and snuggled close to him, nosing at the soft skin under Dean’s ear. “Thank you for letting us have this,” he mumbled before he fell asleep.

–

Fingers were brushing through his hair when Sam woke up. He was warm under the blanket that he couldn’t remember covering himself with. Dean retrieved his hand when Sam opened his eyes. They were close, but not touching anywhere else.

“Morning,” Sam said with a raspy voice.

Dean’s face was soft and open, and yet his eyes were sad when he answered in a whispered, “Hey.”

Sam smiled and frowned as his dreams tried coming back to him. They slipped away and he couldn’t reach for them. 

Dean looked slightly alarmed and sunk more into himself. “Sam? Are you okay?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah, I’m–I don’t know,” said Sam. He didn’t want to chase his dreams, this moment, lying here with Dean, was better than any dream could be–it was real. Something... was still a little bit off about that.

He sighed and embraced Dean in a hug, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him. They were naked from last night, and while that had been awesome, it was so nice to simply feel him now.

“Want you to hold me, Dean,” said Sam and Dean did just that, put his arms on Sam’s back in a comforting touch.

A moment passed between them.

Dean was restless and Sam could tell he wanted to say something.

“Dean?” he asked, muttered it into his skin.

Dean hummed, Sam could feel the vibration of it.

Sam’s heart started pounding before he knew what it was that he wanted to ask. “What are you… what are you keeping from me?”

Dean froze – well, not physically since he hadn’t been moving much, but mentally Sam felt him retreating, felt the panic radiating off him. He lifted his head, Dean’s eyes were shut tight and he was clenching his jaw like he was in pain.

“Hey,” Sam said carefully. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

Dean backed away, brought some space between them (as much as the Queen sized bed allowed) and inhaled, deeply.

“No, I really should.” He looked at him in pure defeat and shame. Sam swallowed, afraid of what was going to come. “You’re going to find out eventually, and I’m only hurting you by putting it off. Jesus, Sam… I’m so sorry.”

“Dean?” Sam drew his eyebrows together, more in worry than anything else. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. What did you do?”

Dean clenched his hands and pressed them against his eyes. “Well, but it is. I fucked up.”

Sam reached out and pulled Dean’s hands away from his face, holding them in his own, not letting go through Dean’s relentless pulling. Dean gave up eventually and sighed.

“I don’t know how to say this.” Dean’s voice cracked.

Sam stayed quiet and waited for him to find his words. He wanted to scoot closer, but had a feeling that wouldn’t be very welcome.

Dean grinned in a painful grimace. “Okay, let’s pull this bandaid off; your memories got altered – by choice. You have, you’re... You already know all about hunting and, and me, it’s just that you don’t remember.”

Somehow, Sam didn’t find that too surprising. He tried to keep his face open, encouraging. He was sure that couldn’t be all of it.

“I believe you,” he whispered.

“Yeah, well,” Dean continued, tone strained. “See, the thing is… you’re a vessel, Lucifer’s vessel. But he needs your permission to possess you, so he can start the apocalypse. Michael’s also involved. I’m Michael’s vessel.”

Sam didn’t understand. But the hairs in the back of his neck stood up.

Dean gave a dry laugh. “We want to stop the apocalypse. So we thought if we completely cut one of us off from the supernatural world, still protected from everything of course, from the angels especially. ‘One of us’ being you… Then there’s no chance you will say yes to him. No chance that you– that you’d convince yourself you _should_ say yes.”

Sam’s mind was twirling. What Dean was saying was… _insane_. And yet, what stood out to him was– “Why me? Why only one of us?”

He didn’t care what reaction Dean had expected from him, he was offended. Slightly at least.

Dean got a little flush, he said, “Hey, for the record: you agreed to this.”

“Easy for you to say, you have your memories.”

“Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat. “It’s because, if somehow the angels would find you – the chance was so slim, you have no idea how many angel repelling charms you had in your apartment and on you.” – Sam was taken aback by the ‘on you’ but didn’t interrupt. – “Anyways, if Lucifer somehow tricked you into saying yes, then there would have still been me, who knew what was going on… Er, Let’s just say the plan failed in a completely different area than we had accounted for.”

“...Which is?” Dean was trying again to free his hands, and Sam noticed how strongly he was squeezing them. He let go.

Dean couldn’t look him in the eye. “Me not being able to stay away.” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I had to check on you. I didn’t think this would be so hard, but–”

“Oh my god!” Something clicked in Sam. Obviously that was how Dean knew him so well already, but also, “So you _did_ stalk me!” He broke out in laughter.

“Uh, yeah…” Dean held back a smile. “I guess. I needed to make sure you were doing okay...”

“You idiot,” Sam said fondly, thought of how obvious Dean had been, with knowing his address and how he took his coffee. 

Dean made a face. “I wasn’t meant to. It could’ve brought your memories back. It _should_ have brought your memories back. But you don’t remember anything.”

Sam smiled at him. “You think I got in a car with you _and_ didn’t remember you, not even subconsciously?”

“No, I mean, I obviously didn’t think you would do that with any random stranger. But other than that you didn’t really show any signs that the memories were coming back.”

Sam’s chest felt light as his smile grew wider. “So the dreams are true, holy shit.”

“Dreams?”

“Had dreams of hunting with you,” he said. “They felt so real, but I didn’t think– They don’t fit with _my_ memories, my… ‘fake’ memories?” It didn’t sound right calling his life prior to meeting Dean fake, even though he _did_ believe every word Dean had said. “It’s weird.”

“We’ll fix it,” assured Dean. “I was really hoping the hunt would kickstart you memories, but that didn’t happen… At least you knew you could use iron or the ghost would have strangled me.”

“Guess you can’t suppress my intuition,” Sam grinned, and added, “Always felt like I knew you.”

At once Dean looked had he had been slapped.

“What the– Dean?”

“Yeah, there’s one more thing…” Dean avoided eye contact. God, how Sam _hated_ when he did that.

“What is it?”

“Listen, you’re gonna hate me for this. I’m– “ He scrunched up his face. “In love with you or whatever–”

“Sounds super flattering when you say it like that.”

“Shut up–”

“I love you back,” said Sam, putting his palm against Dean’s cheek, urging him to look at him. And Dean did, Dean looked at him like Sam was the best thing he had ever seen, like he was on the verge of crying imagining how Sam would react when he told him what he still couldn’t say.

Sam wasn’t worried. He propped himself up, leaning on one elbow over Dean. He closed the gap and kissed him.

He followed the kiss with a series of pecks on his cheeks, catching the tears. Sam kissed the corners of Dean’s mouth, his eyelids and nose, until Dean leaned into it and kissed him back. He kissed him like it was the last kiss they would ever share.

Sam broke the kiss and moved back in, placed peck after peck on Dean’s mouth. Then kissed him some more until they were both breathless.

“Just say it, Dean,” he whispered against his lips.

“Can’t,” Dean croaked out.

“I'll find out anyways. Or are you planning on keeping me clueless forever?” Sam was joking, but Dean turned his face away, looking like he was swallowing bile.

Dean stared into space. Sam let him, lying down on his chest so he could listen to his heartbeat. He would stay there until Dean was ready.

He closed his eyes. His whole body roared with memories of Dean – feelings, impressions, and most of all love. He compared his old life, his non existent family and all his ‘old friends’, to how he felt about Dean and wondered how they could ever think this plan would work out. How they could think he wouldn’t lay one eye on Dean and immediately choose the apocalypse over a normal life if it meant he had Dean.

“Brothers, Sammy.”

Sam’s breath caught somewhere deep down, he knew exactly what Dean meant. But… if he said he was surprised he would be lying. Warmth spread through him. Sam pressed his face into Dean’s neck and smiled.

“Aren’t you mad…?” He felt Dean’s heart racing underneath him.

No, he wasn’t. Sam had never felt this content. All he felt was _yes_. That’s what had been missing all along.

–

Driving was comfortable again.

Sam was aware that they had huge fish to fry as soon as he was completely in the loop. But for now he was living in the moment. 

Their love had been obvious. Sam was starting to believe they had always known that. Forgetting Dean was his brother wasn’t the trigger to admit that to himself, if was simply the reason he did something about it.

They took a turn and Bobby’s house appeared. They drove toward it and Sam thought of all the times he had this exact same view before Dean would stop the car and Bobby would greet them at the door, having heard them from afar.

Yeah, maybe Dean was still thinking Sam was going to change his mind eventually, but it wouldn’t take long until Sam could fully reassure him. He had a feeling no other missing memories could change anything about how he felt about Dean.


End file.
